While Brother Percival was discovering the lies of his god, Morgan Dragonsbane was just arriving home. Flying over the grey, putrid swamps populated with ogres, ravens, black cats, frogs and lizards of every size and shape — and more than a few corpses of each — Morgan heard a mad cackle in the distance and knew she was where she belonged.

Dawn broke, its light dyed green by the ambient miasma, and Morgan landed before an oddly normal looking tavern. The sign hanging over the door proclaimed it to be ‘Ye Onyx Cauldron’ in bold, gothic letters beneath an image of an overflowing black cauldron.

Morgan walked up the ‘wood’ steps — she knew them to be made of the petrified skin of her enemies, but who else needed to know? — and opened the salt-stone door by its copper and coldiron knob. She stepped over the ‘Not Welcome’ mat and passed through the ‘oak’ threshold that certainly wasn’t made from ground dragon bone.

“Cassandra, I’m—“

A portal ripped open in the middle of the taproom — something which should have been impossible given the sheets of lead and gold in the walls — and out popped Aolyn, an immaterial gash of unknowable esoterica wriggling his form apart from his neck to his waist.

“—home? Damnit all! Cassandra, get the tentacle containment kit!”

Rather than take the time to be shocked, Morgan sprang into action. She cast a quick spell, and bands of iron sprung from the floor to hold Aolyn still. Morgan cut open her finger with the dagger at her side and began scrawling runes all around the wounded god.

Wait…

“You’re not a god.” Morgan said without pausing her work.

“Thanks for noticing,” Aolyn said, gritting his teeth as the fleshy things writhing around within him continued to undo his material form. “I got rid of all of them, in fact. All except one, but we won’t have to worry about her. She’s a friend.”

An old black cat with intelligent green eyes and bags strapped to her sides hopped down from the stairs, landing beside Morgan.

“Thank you, Cassandra, and sorry for having you work so early. And you, Aolyn, explain later. For now, empty your mind. Think of nothing, and don’t look at what I’m about to do.”

Obediently, Aolyn closed his eyes as Morgan removed her tools and reagents from the pouches strapped to Cassandra. Disobediently, Aolyn spoke.

“I broke my promise,” he said.

“What?” Morgan asked, distracted from her work for only an instant. In that brief moment of distraction, a thick worm with teeth for eyes and eyes for teeth lunged at her hands. Thinking quickly, she stabbed it with a willow stake, and the eldritch thing withered.

“I said that next time, I wouldn’t appear from — Fuck that hurts! — that I wouldn’t appear from nowhere.” Despite his pain, he managed a smile and cracked open his eyes.

Morgan was about to yell at him for not clearing his mind, but the eldritch tear in his body was actually starting to mend. With but a few more ministrations, Morgan closed the wound completely. Puzzled, Morgan turned to Cassandra, but Cassandra was looking at her with an equally puzzled look.

“That was… easier than I was expecting. It was as if…”

“Everything alright, Morgan? Can I start thinking again?”

Morgan frowned. “You’re speaking to me. You’re already thinking.”

“I suppose I am, but I also am not. As a man, talking without thinking is my specialty. It also helps that my time in the void turned my mind into a paradox, but if it’s alright with you, could I resume normal thought now?”

Morgan took a moment to stare into Aolyn’s eyes and found them to be glassy, as if he wasn’t all there. “Sure,” she said. “The tentacles are as starved and dead as they can be, so it should be safe.”

“Phew!” Aolyn sighed in relief and sat up, intelligence returning to his gaze. “Being partially torn from reality really hurts.”

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

“Sure. I’ll explain everything, but first…” he pulled open a part of his already torn shirt, and Morgan couldn’t help but notice the fine musculature of his chest. Before she could ask what he was doing, he pulled out a partially shredded and bloodied piece of paper from a hidden breast pocket.

Morgan took it into her hands, and she and Cassandra glanced over it.

“Meow?” Cassandra asked.

“I don’t know what a ‘resume’ is either. Care to explain?”

The man nodded cheerily despite having been one day ago a god, and one minute ago upon the precipice of death by unreality. “If you’re starting an army,” he said, “I’d like to be a lieutenant. You’ll find that I have plenty of relevant work experience. If anything, I might be over-qualified, but this field is my passion!

“As a new startup, you could gain a lot from my first-hand experience. I’ll help your company avoid many common pitfalls while you discover and excel within your own unique direction. I’m a team player, and though I’m used to leading, I have no problem being subordinate to another’s vision.

“You’ll also find that I can be insightful without being overbearing. We both know how annoying those know-it-all-because-I’m-the-god-of-the-sun types can be, and I can assure you that I’ll be nothing like them!

“I thank you in advance for the consideration. Do you have any more questions for me before we move onto other topics?”

Morgan blinked, momentarily confused, but then she remembered the promise she’d given him the other day. Having a former god as a her first recruit? So long as he kept his promise not to act like a dick…

“Are you sure about this, Aolyn?” Morgan asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Not even a little hesitation? How can you be so certain? This is a huge decision.”

“Morgan,” Aolyn began, his voice suddenly low and calm, the voice of a man who’d seen it all, “rarely have I ever been so certain of anything as I am about this.

“I’ve spent thousands of years chasing my own wildest dreams only to succeed and remain hollow. I’ve learned that happiness isn’t some goal on the horizon, but a habit. Happiness is to struggle every day toward a cause greater than myself.

“Morgan Dragonsbane, I have witnessed who you are when it counts. Bound by nothing but your word and the honor of your coven, you threw yourself against certain death simply because you thought it was the right thing to do. I have barely known you a day, but not even a century could help me see you more clearly than I do right now.

“I’ve already had my chance to guide the world into something better, and I failed miserably. Now, there is no greater desire in my heart than to help you succeed where I could not.

“Please. If I am to die, let it be while bringing about the world of which you dream. Nothing could make me happier.”

Morgan took another appraising look over the man before her. She’d seen many a deception in her time, but as far as she could tell, he was being absolutely genuine.

“Alright, Aolyn,” she said finally. “If you’ll have me as a [Liege], I’ll gladly accept you as a [Vassal].” She held out her hand for him to shake.

He brightened, reaching out to accept her grasp, but then he paused, sneaking a look at Cassandra. “In front of your familiar?” he asked.

“Why not?”

“Well, okay then. If you’re fine with it…”

He took her hand, and with her soul, Morgan tentatively reached out. She’d never done it before, but thanks to Melpomene’s guidance, she knew how it was supposed to be done.

She sent a tendril of her soul to prod Aolyn’s and felt something incomprehensibly vast return her touch. Morgan felt her breath catch, but otherwise made no reaction. Aolyn was similarly placid, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. With her tendril of soul, she could feel him, and he could feel her.

By the very nature of the ritual, Morgan was the one in control. Though his soul was more powerful than hers, Aolyn could do nothing to harm her. Beyond the ability to reject her advance, he was as powerless to steer this situation as a leaf in the wind. Nevertheless, Morgan was the one who felt vulnerable.

As a mercenary, she’d signed onto a number of different armies, each led by a different [Liege]. She’d been through this ritual multiple times, but always from the other end, and never while being so aware.

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Before, the sensations of [Vassalage] were abstract and hard to define, so faint it was difficult to tell if they were even real.

Now, however, she’d awoken her perception of the soul. She could feel everything, and she knew intuitively that Aolyn could too.

To the other, they were each more than laid bare. They were beyond naked. They were beyond defenseless. They couldn’t have been more exposed if they tried. Though she’d sent naught but a tendril of soul his way, it was as if Morgan were the sea and Aolyn were the sky, and in the throes of the ritual, they’d fused into a hurricane.

“Should we stop?” Aolyn asked, drawing Morgan out of her thoughts.

Much to her shame, Morgan realized that she’d lost sight of herself somewhere within the ritual. If Aolyn hadn’t pulled her out with his words, she didn’t know if she would have ever found her way out.

Morgan wondered if this was why mortals naturally never developed soul sense.

“Meow?” asked Cassandra, batting at the sleeve of Morgan’s five-colored robe.

“No, it’s alright,” Morgan replied, her voice breathless. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but tried to play it off for her familiar’s sake. “We’re not done yet, but I can do this.”

“Meow…” Cassandra said, but she was obviously unconvinced.

Aolyn put on a complicated expression. “There’s no shame in stopping. We could try again later, or forget about—“

“Do you want to stop, Aolyn the no-longer-deathless?”

He smiled. “Of course not.”

“Then let’s go.” Her breathing went heavier, and she leaned in, grasping his hand tighter. “I said I can do this, so I can.”

Morgan turned her eyes back to Aolyn’s, but her gaze was already elsewhere, turned inward to behold the frothing storm of their souls. She did as Melpomene had shown her, or at least she tried to. Before she could lose herself again, Aolyn tightened his grip to match hers. He drew her closer and placed her fingers on the bruised flesh of his chest.

“Right there,” he guided her, voice low, intimate. “Take just a wisp, and make it yours.”

Focusing on his words, Morgan knew what she had to do. She embraced the vulnerability of the act.

With but a bare tendril of soul, she leapt from the sea and into the hurricane. In her mind’s eye, she reached out and snatched a sliver of sky. She held it tight, and it buzzed in her hand like a bolt of lightning. With it, she dove back into the waves below, and the ritual was complete.

Back in the taproom, within her corporeal body, Morgan let out a loud, ragged cry of relief. She released Aolyn’s hand and fell backwards, a feeling of deep satisfaction passing through her entire body.

Cassandra leapt into her lap, a concerned look in her eyes, but Morgan just smiled back.

She was no longer ‘just’ a [Tier V] [Omnimancer] with the [Dragonslayer] keyword. Feeling the soul now tethered to her own, she was so much more.

“Don’t be so glum,” she told Cassandra. “You’re partner’s a [Liege] now! How’s it feel to be the familiar of a big shot? I mean, I was already a pretty big shot, but now I’m an even bigger shot!”

“Meow.”

“Haha, I suppose that’s true.”

“Lieutenant Aolyn reporting for duty!” the not-god interjected, sitting up straight and chopping one hand against his forehead in some strange form of military salute. “Forgive me for interrupting, my [Liege], but I believe I should begin my report on what has transpired these past few hours.”

Morgan and Cassandra shared a glance, then both turned to look at the [Vassal].

“Alright. Start from whatever’s most important.”

“Yes sir! Shall I start with the fall of the gods?”

“…You were serious about that?”

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“Hey Brandon! Isn’t Sol the best?”

Brandon looked up from his book, trying to hide his annoyance. Apparently, asking for the ability to read quietly in a public quiet-reading lounge was asking for too much, and Brandon had yet to discover any place that was private.

“Um, yeah. Sol sure is amazing, dude,” Brandon lied unconvincingly, but the man’s soul — whose name Brandon forgot — didn’t seem to notice.

“Sweet! Me and the other guys were about to go sing his praises in the [Sunbeam Gardens] if you’d like to come join.”

“Uh, yeah. I’d love to, but I’m at a really interesting part of my book,” Brandon said, holding up his hardcover novel covered with a book jacket. “Maybe next time, man.” He sat back down in his chaise-lounge, signalling the end of the conversation, but the other soul ignored the social cue and continued to prattle on.

“Oh, you’re reading Of Sunny Days: The Greatness of Sol? I love that book!”

“Haha. I’m liking it too, but don’t spoil it for me! Now, my guy, if you’d leave me alone to—“

“Don’t you love the part when Sol strikes down the evil Demon King with a bolt of sunlight?”The soul looked into the middle distance, his eyes literally twinkling with stars. “Ooooh, gives me the chills every time.”

“Um, yeah, sure… good part, pal. Sorry but it’s really hard to read while—“

“Oh no! That’s at the end of the book!” The stars in the soul’s eyes disappeared, and the man turned back to Brandon, looking striken. “I’m so sorry! I’ve done something terrible! This is just as bad as when the [Hero] Arthur Kingsblood the First committed the sin of momentarily questioning why Sol sent him to kill the Daemonic children! I shouldn’t have spoiled that for you, just as Arthur never should have questioned… Oh my! I did it again, didn’t I? Please forgive me, Brother Brandon!”

Brandon’s fake smile weakened. “It’s… It’s alright, buddy. Now run along and—“

“No, it’s not alright!” the soul shouted, tears in his eyes. “Please, accompany me to the [Hall of Atonement] so that I may—“

“My Brother in Sol, shut the fuck up!” Brandon threw up his hands and got up from his chaise-lounge. “I’ve been here barely a day, but it’s felt like an eternity!”

“Um… I too feel that the joy here seems to stretch on, every moment filled with a lifetime’s worth of—“

“I said shut up!” Brandon screamed. He spiked his book onto the floor in anger. “I can’t get away from you lot! Just give me a single hour of peace! I beg you!”

For one blessed moment, the other soul was silent, gobsmacked and unsure how to respond. Then the blessed moment ended, and the soul spoke. “I’m… I’m sorry, Brother Brandon. I’ll go to the [Hall of Atonement] myself…”

“Thank you. Sounds great.”

“Oh, but it looks like the book jacket fell off of your book when they hit the floor. Let me pick them both up for you.”

“What? No! It’s fine! Just run along and—“

“No, it’s the least I could do. I’m the reason you threw… them… in the first place?” As the soul bent over, retrieving the book and its jacket, he noticed that their two titles didn’t match.

Brandon tried to swipe both away, but the other soul reacted too quickly, pulling the pair out of Brandon’s reach. Both Brandon and the other soul paled, but for very different reasons.

“Brother Brandon, is this pornogra—?”

Luckily for Brandon, that was the exact moment the [Divine Apocalypse] happened, and the two souls disappeared.

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Brandon’s soul reappeared within a giant orb of swirling ice, surrounded by what could have been millions or even billions of other souls.

There was no up or down. Every soul was standing atop the inside shell of the gargantuan icy sphere, their gazes drawn centerward toward a closed-eyed figure with a long red beard, crossed arms, and thick slabs of muscle. Based off of what he knew, Brandon guessed that the figure was Treskur, the sole god of the [Frigid North], but he couldn’t be certain.

Swathes of new souls continued appearing all over the interior of the sphere, and Brandon was struck by the sheer multitude of the dead. Had all these people really existed? Could there really have been so many living, breathing, thinking minds? Realizing just how many other souls there were — with more still appearing with every passing breath — made Brandon feel suddenly small.

“Brandon…” said a voice beside him.

If Brandon weren’t already dead, he would have died of shock. He knew that voice.

He slowly turned to meet the gaze of the one who called his name, and nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The once full, heroic cheeks were sallow. The shining blond hair was dull, paler than straw. The blue eyes were murky pools. The strong frame was thinned. The confident posture was hunched, defeated. The bravado was dead, and with it, the man.

“Ar-Arthur?” Brandon asked, though he already knew the answer. “Arthur, is that you?”

“Brandon,” the [Hero] said, a glimmer of intelligence returning to his hollow fish-stare. “Brandon, it’s so good to see you.” Tears welled within his former [Liege]’s eyes.

If it unnerved Brandon to see the diminished Arthur Kingsblood III — the once proud [Tier V] [Champion of Sol] and [Hero] of the [Solarian Courts] — then hearing him say ‘good to see you’ was downright terrifying.

Brandon tried to run, but found himself frozen in place, his ethereal feet literally encased in the ice of the sphere. “Who-Who are you? Where is Arthur? What happened to him?”

“Brandon… I am Arthur.”

“Liar!”

“No, Brandon. I’ve changed.”

“I asked who you are! Tell me, fiend!”

“And I’ve told you who I am. Do you know what hell is, Brandon?”

Brandon tried again to pull himself free of the ice, but to no avail. “If you’re Arthur, then prove it! Tell me something only he would—“

“Much to my shame, we never knew each other well enough to share a secret that could prove my identity. I was cruel to you, Brandon. I was so, so cruel. I brushed you off. I ignored you. I-I didn’t appreciate you. I’m so sorry, but I know words can never make up for the way I treated you.”

Brandon stopped struggling against the ice. He took a long, hard look at the soul beside him. It was faint, fainter than a decades-old scar, but when Brandon reached out, he could still feel the faded connection between him and the soul beside him, a connection between a former [Vassal] and his [Liege].

“What changed you?” Brandon asked.

“Hell.” Arthur got a far-off look in his eyes. “Hell, Brandon. Hell changed me. I don’t know what any of the other hells might look like, but Sol’s hell…” A shiver passed through the man. “In Sol’s hell, you live your life over and over again, reliving every single one of your failures, but that’s not the worst part. You see your failures through the eyes of others, Brandon. Can you imagine that? Inhabiting the senses of another? Watching your own actions, and feeling how they affect those around you?”

“Empathy?”

“Exactly! It was horrible. Many of what I thought of as my ‘greatest successes,’ I relieved them, but I saw it through the eyes of the locals whose land I destroyed, the troops whose lives I callously sacrificed, the enemies who I mercilessly slew…”

He trailed off and shot Brandon a meaningful look. “…The [Tactician] whose plans I foiled with my own incompetence. I’m sorry, Brandon.”

Brandon had no idea how to respond. He just stared, opened mouthed, at the repentant soul, lost for words.

“How many years has it been?” Arthur asked. “I lived through each moment a thousand times, but the cuts never dulled with repetition. How much time has passed on Terra? Has it been a decade, a century?”

Finally snapping out of his shock, Brandon found the ability to speak. “Um, actually Arthur…”

“It hasn’t been a millennium, has it? My, how the time flies when—“

“A day and a half,” Brandon blurted out.

Arthur blinked. “What?”

“It’s been a day and a half, Arthur. You’ve been in hell for a day and a half.”

Arthur blinked again. “What?”

“Well, closer to a day and a third, really. Or is it a day and a quarter?” Brandon started doing the math in his head, but was interrupted by a sudden outburst from his old boss.

“What the fuck?” Arthur asked, his sallow face going red with rage. “That solar bastard trapped me in a time-distorted hell? After all I did for him? I don’t care if he’s a god! I’m going to shove my foot so far up his ass that I’ll kick his teeth!”

“Wait! What happened to empathy and all that?”

Brandon didn’t expect the plea to work, but Arthur’s time in Sol’s hell must have actually changed him, because he actually took a deep breath and considered the dead [Tactician]’s words.

“You’re right, Brandon. Anger and direct confrontation isn’t the way to go about this.”

Brandon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Wonderful. Now let’s figure out what—“

“To kill a god, we’ll need to use tactics!” Arthur proclaimed, interrupting Brandon. Old habits died hard, apparently.

Brandon let out a sigh. Again, he had to be the voice of reason. “Listen, Arthur. We don’t even know if it’s possible for gods to—“

Brandon was cut off as the deity in the center of the sphere of ice spoke, her voice thundering throughout the entire sphere. “Now that everyone’s here, allow me to get the most shocking news out of the way first,” she said. “Other than myself, the gods are no more!”